


Freshly Drugged and Ready to be Slaughtered

by 3x3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, lots of dialogue if you know me, need i say more?, not what I usually write but meh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3x3/pseuds/3x3
Summary: in which Oikawa kills Futakuchi while he is resting





	Freshly Drugged and Ready to be Slaughtered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@shoyfroyoo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40shoyfroyoo).



> This was from the Hunger Games Generator I believe. A friend sent it to me, and the mental image was too strong.  
> also posted on my Tumblr @thebottomlesspitofbottomlessness  
> I apologize for the overflowing dialogue.

He tells himself that he can’t back down now.

Not when victory is just one step away.

Oikawa looks at the boy. Sleeping under the tree, Futakuchi seems so peaceful, face open, expression free of the permanent scowl between his eyebrows. Oikawa wonders how it was possible to be so  _relaxed,_  while they were struggling to survive in a battle to the death. Futakuchi has always been the cautious one, saying how they were both Careers, and therefore should know better than to let their guards down, to feed themselves a blind wish of foolish faith. Yet, there he was sleeping, leaving his safety to Oikawa, only because they knew each other personally, as temporary allies, as comrades, and perhaps even as friends (and maybe a little something more). Either way, he trusted Oikawa enough to be exposing himself completely. It is almost comical, how he could throw himself out to the world so casually, from the type of reckless faith he spoke so distastefully of, especially when the person he’s entrusting it to is Oikawa Tooru, a Career, much like himself.

Under the tree, he is snoring quietly, chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm.

(He looks like a happy, ordinary Capitol schoolboy; not at all a trained killer with fingers coated with the blood of the people he’s struck down.)

* * *

They are both Careers.

They hold a duty to their home, to their families. It’s why the Districts chose them, and granted them the grand gift of honor and fame, if only they succeed in their one goal, something they’ve been taught to prepare for all their lives.

Oikawa recalls seeing Futakuchi in the training center.

It didn’t come as a shock.

He’s seen the boy before, on the pictures his Mentor has shown him, on the borderline of One and Two.

He’s one of the kids he was warned against.

_Futakuchi Kenji. District Two. He’s scheduled to participate in the same Games as you this year. Smart, Flexible, both physical and mental wise. He would make a powerful ally._

It was what his Mentor said, but when Oikawa looked at the boy’s picture, all he thought was what a shame it would be to have to end the life of the owner to such a beautiful face.

When they finally  _do_  meet in the official training center, it took Oikawa no more than half a second to recognize the boy. Tall, slender, broad shoulders and strong build, but not overly bulky to the point that it would slow down his movements.

And then he got to see Futakuchi Kenji in action. He was not let down, the boy was as swift and agile as he imagined, and even better was that he wasn’t the tiniest bit weaker in strength than the muscular bulldozers of Four. He was a strategist, like Oikawa himself, he was careful to hide his abilities, but not enough to throw off the attention of people who knew what to look for in a fighter.  _Tricky_. He would be underestimated, Oikawa could see, and it would be one of his greatest advantages.

When he caught Oikawa staring, there was a hint of surprise in his gaze, which quickly turned into mischief. Futakuchi cocked his head at Oikawa, and held up a finger to his uprising lips.  _Shh._  Then he winked, a twinkle dancing in his pupils.

A dangerous enemy, is what Oikawa labeled secretly.

* * *

Oikawa remembers meeting up in the training room before the games, driven by his Mentor’s wishes and his own curiosity.

 _“We’re Careers.” the other boy said briskly. “It’s not wise if we clash paths immediately, Oikawa-_ san _”_

 _“Would you rather we meet up much later in the games when it’s just the both of us left, Niro-_ chan _?” Oikawa smirked at him._

_Futakuchi raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the nickname Oikawa forcefully gave to him._

_“Ahh, can we end it in a more dramatic fashion? I’m thinking no weapons, just our teeth and fingernails. From some point of view people might even think we’re making out.”_

_Futakuchi snorted at that. “What? You’re not even going to make out with me properly?”_

_Oikawa widened his eyes in a pleasant surprise. He didn’t expect the boy to shoot back such a flirty retort. “That can be arranged.” he promised._

_“Survive until then, Oikawa-san.” the younger teen glanced at him carelessly. “Then we can talk about first date.”_

_“Old-fashioned, are you?”_

_“As any proper gentleman would be.” he stuck out his tongue at him in a playful manner._

It was almost reassuring, having someone to joke around with before their collective deaths. He supposed it was kind of like some post-apocalyptic easiness. When you’re facing something beyond your control, it’s a blessing to be able to focus on casual, insignificant details of your everyday life.

* * *

The arena tastes of fresh air and trees.

The smells makes him sick.

* * *

They met up nearly instantly in the Games, at the Cornucopia. They each spared a quick glance to the other before coming to an agreement not to fight right there on the spot.

Then Futakuchi disappeared down the other side of the path as quickly as he came.

* * *

They never lost touch, though.

* * *

They would be always tracking one another down, every few days. But neither ever showed themselves even though they both sense the presence of the other person. It helped settle Oikawa down, from his part. And sometimes when they were out of sight, they’d exchange a few quiet words. (One might call it “exchanging words”, but it’s really either just trying to spook the other boy or outright shameless flirting.)

It was a comfort, and sometimes it was a convenience.

Knowing where another Tribute was meant when you were being hunted down by a group of allies, you knew where to lure them so you could distract them and throw them off your track by leading them straight to another Career, the main target of the other Tributes.

Oikawa supposed they had some sort of understanding between them.

They had no duty towards each other whatsoever, both being single players.

But no matter how many times he got to stop and giggle in a tree, watching as Futakuchi get trailed by a group of bloodthirsty mutts; or how many times he woke suddenly, scared upright by an arrow whooshing past his ear by an inch, a series of curses already forming in his mouth; it never got to either of them.

It was fine this way.

Selling out someone, then being sold in return.

Oikawa was pretty sure the other remaining Tributes are still cautious, confused, and a bit frightened about why they didn’t team up.

The reason was simple, or so according to Oikawa himself.

He never interfered with Futakuchi’s business, and counter wise, Futakuchi never bothered to stop Oikawa in his tracks.

They had a mutual understanding.

Sure, he might’ve dropped a berry or two in Futakuchi’s worst days, and the boy may have took down the beehive bothering his “bed”, but that was it. It meant nothing, really.

They were never meant to be allies.

* * *

“We’re teenagers, not cold-blooded psychopathic murderers.”

“We’re humans fighting for survival. Same difference.”

* * *

The contestants kept dying off, and there were less and less people in the Games.

And one day, Futakuchi appeared in front of him.

“There’s the boy from Six, and the girl from Eight.” he informed Oikawa. “And there’s us.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Niro- _chan_?” he teased. “I watch the death news every night.”

“Apologies, Oikawa- _san_ , I didn’t think your awfully small brain could hold that much information.”

Oikawa dismissed the comment. “I see your face is as pretty as always.”

“Thank you. I should hope so. A shame I can’t say the same for you.”

He hummed. “You should learn to lie. A little white lie never hurt anybody, and it certainly won’t hurt the chance to get a nice girl.”

“I’m sorry, Oikawa- _san_ , but I was raised honest.”

They both laughed. Then Oikawa puts his dagger to Futakuchi’s throat. “Okay now, why are you here, really?”

The boy held up both his hands in a surrendering manner, blinking innocently. “The other two teamed up just now.”

“Ahh, did they?”

“Yes. And I’m purposing we do the same.”

“And why is that?”

“So I can claim the rights to a date I’ve been rightfully promised.” he huffed. “Besides, you can’t really say no to such a pretty face, can you?”

So that’s what they did. In less than a day the other two were down.

“We should’ve done this earlier.”

“We really shouldn’t have. I hate killing.”

“I hate killing too. The blood never goes away.”

“The night’s still young, wanna go on that date so we can battle each other to the death tomorrow without regrets?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

It wasn’t romantic, not particularly, since it started out as a joke of a suggestion, but at least they tried, and it turned out to be the greatest fun Oikawa’s had since the Reaping, when he’d volunteered for certain death.

It was really more like a girls’ night-out, they braided flowers into each others hair full of dirt and mud. They held hands, and sat on a firm tree branch, feeding on berries for dinner and watching the illusion sunset together.

“You think the Gamemakers are losing their collective shits over us right now?” Futakuchi snorted into Oikawa’s shoulder.

“Why? Because we’re within a meter radius and we’re still not ripping each other’s throats out?” he dragged a finger across the boy’s cheeks, making him giggle.

“Something like that. They’re hoping for a bloodbath yet all they’re getting are two gay teens cuddling and roasting the screwed up system.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m bi.”

Futakuchi rolled his eyes. “Fine. A gay teen and a bi teen. Happy now?”

“Satisfactory.”

He laughed, a clear voice echoing down the forest. “Screw you people!” he shouted up to the sky, holding up a middle finger.

Oikawa slapped it away lightly. “Stop. You’re gonna get into trouble. Don’t wanna ruin date night now do we?”

“Oops, sorry.” he flashed a grin, then directed himself back to the sky. “I retract my previous words! Please don’t crash my first date, thank you!” Futakuchi turned to Oikawa a bit smugly. “How’s that?”

“A horrible apology.” he replied. “Not that I’m complaining as long as they don’t send a bolt of lightning down on us.”

“They won’t do that. They need a winner. They’re dying for some action.”

“You mean recreating rom coms in a killer jungle doesn’t suffice?”

“Something tells me the answer to that is ‘no’.”

“Don’t they see that with a flick of my wrist I can cut a finger off of you with the knife I’m hiding in my shoe?”

“Are you really?”

“Nah.” he winked, like he had the first time they crossed gazes. It sent a shiver down Oikawa’s spine.

“Okay then,” Oikawa shifted, bringing Futakuchi to settle on his chest better. “It’s getting dark. Wanna finish up this batch of fruit and we get down so we can go somewhere and end the date with some  _‘action’_?”

“Perfectly fine by me.”

* * *

(Later that night they were all tangled up together, all limbs and lips and quick shallow breaths in each other’s mouths. Honestly Oikawa couldn’t care less that they were probably being broadcast to the people of the entire country. The show is off-limits to children anyway.)

* * *

So that’s how they fell asleep.

And also how Oikawa finds the other boy resting when he wakes up the next morning, snuggled up in the short crispy grass and using his own arm as a pillow.

It is truly quite a sight to behold.

Oikawa studies him quietly, fingers twitching to rest on the butt of his dagger. It’s also cruel, remembering that this is a boy he will have to finish off.

To add on to the burden, what was a better chance than that moment, when the target was totally defenseless?

* * *

It is impossible.

Futakuchi was never defenseless.

And yet there he lies.

Oikawa knows the right thing to do would be to wait for him to wake up, then they can duel properly.

What’s horrifying is that he isn’t sure he is able tip his weapon towards the boy.

His gaze softens. Oikawa raises his hand gently, and even though he knows he bears the risk of getting his entire hand cut off, he moves in to stroke Futakuchi’s hair.

The boy doesn’t stir. Or chop Oikawa’s hand off.

Of course he doesn’t. He’s asleep. But there’s more to that. He’s also drugged. From the berries Oikawa handed him the previous night. Oikawa was so sure Futakuchi noticed it, but the boy didn’t question him, neither did he resist. In fact, he ate the entire batch, and almost made Oikawa doubt that he really knew what was going on. (But there was no way he hadn’t seen. Oikawa wasn’t being particualrly subtle. Partly was because he  _wanted_ the boy to notice, so he could avoid it. Oikawa couldn’t believe that Futakuchi jumped straight into this mess despite knowing what’s awaiting.)

Oikawa’s fingers brush over the dried flowers he waved into Futakuchi’s hair. Most are shredded by now. The thought brings a wicked smile up his lips.

He wonders how much of an entertainment he is being right now.

Not much, but it won’t be for long anyway.

* * *

Futakuchi should’ve known better, really.

Oikawa tightens his grip on the handle of his dagger.

The tip of his blade shows no mercy.

Sharp, cold, dipped in vital poison that takes away the victim’s life in a more gradual manner than normal standards, but paralyzes almost instantly, disabling opponents in a flash.

Oikawa slowly tips out a drip of honey from his flask, golden and thick, gleaming under the artificial sunlight filtered through the leaves and branches of the tree.

(The thought makes him sick, of being forced to murder just for other people’s pleasure, but he has no choice. It is all for his family back home.)

Some people call that distinguishing signature hint of sweetness an unnecessary luxury, others say it’s a waste of resources. He himself sees it as the last, and only gesture of consolation he has to offer to the unfortunate ones in his way. It is sympathy, a final dash of tenderness to soothe the pain, and to ease out the roads to afterlife.

* * *

They’ve betrayed each other so many times it’s a wonder that Futakuchi still trusts him.

Then he realizes that he is wrong. Futakuchi doesn’t trust him at all. No one would, in this world, at least not in the way most people would associate with the word “trust”.

The better term to describe Futakuchi’s action is that he is giving up on himself. He is only unprepared, unguarded because he wants to be. He is offering a golden opportunity for Oikawa, bringing it straight to his door. He  _knows_  that Oikawa could see the whole picture, urges the elder teen to take the chance. He lets himself be taken down. For whatever unknown reason, it’s the choice he took. The message is clear: kill him, and victory will be Oikawa’s.

The only “trust” he has is trust that Oikawa would be sensible enough to end his life right there and then.

Somehow the thought is more dreadful than having to die in the arena.

* * *

_I don’t want to fight you anymore._

_You have to_. Oikawa can almost imagine Futakuchi’s exasperated smile.  _It’s the only way you can get out of here, idiot._

_But you’re so…_

_What, Oikawa-_ san _?_  There goes the infuriating smirk again.  _Getting soft-hearted? Good thing I stuck with you til the end, or you might’ve been slaughtered by those two morons if I left you on your own. Now hurry up here. The arena is a bit small once you get used to it, isn’t it?_

_I don’t know how you expect me to-_

_Kill me?_ Futakuchi offers in his mind.  _Look, I gave you a perfectly good opening right now. Just go there, stab that blade nice and clean through my ribs. Make it quick, please, I don’t want to die a suffering death of blood loss._

_You won’t. My blade is dipped with a narcotic drug._

_Good._

_……_

It is ridiculous, having a one-sided conversation with a slumbering boy. Oikawa thinks he might be going insane. But he supposes there will be plenty of therapists once he gets out of the place.

 _How can you do this to me?_ he complains.

 _You mean, let you win?_ Imaginary-Futakuchi raises an eyebrow.  _Simple. That way I won’t have to kill you. Did I ever tell you that? I hate struggling with my own feelings, so I’ll save that juicy bit up to you._

_How did you know for sure that I was going to struggle over you?_

_Oh please._  Futakuchi scoffs.  _There’s no way you could make out with someone_ like that _and put a knife through their heart without hesitation._

_I can’t believe you think I’m heartless enough to stab you while you’re out cold._

_Um, hello? You were the one who drugged me, remember?_

Oikawa scowls.  _I didn’t think you were stupid enough to take it._

He laughs.  _Come on. Stop getting emotional over me. Get it over with. As entertaining as this spiritual conversation is, you can’t stay here forever._

 _Oh yeah, says who?_ he challenges.

_Says me. You have a family don’t you? They miss you._

_What about you?_

_No offence but I’m unconscious at the moment. I can’t really miss you._

Oikawa stifles the urge to whack him over the head. (The actual one, sleeping on the grass, not the make-belief delusion.) _I meant your family, you dimwit._

_Ahh. They’ll survive. I’m not an only child. It’ll be hard on them for a while, but at least as a Career, my family is already promised a nice and fulfilling life._

“This system is messed up.” Oikawa says out loud to himself. “When I grow up I’m never getting kids.”

_Good thing you like boys, huh?_

“I’m bi, remember?”

It’s a funny thought, knowing that the Gamemakers are there watching him speaking to himself like a madman.

_Yeah, yeah. But I’m about to die, therefore your heart is coming with me to the afterlife or wherever teenage murderers go when they die._

“Cocky, are you?”

_Obviously, have you seen me? I’m adorable._

“So you’re okay with me carrying on with my life with a crushing guilt that’s going to haunt me forever?”

 _Absolutely. I’m sure you can handle it, Oikawa-_ san _._

He wants to tell Futakuchi that he really can’t. But the boy won’t be able to hear him anyway.

_Now if I calculated correctly your drug isn’t going to keep me out for much longer._

“Will you kill me if you wake up?”

_No. But I’ll prefer it if you can end my life while I’m still sleeping. Less painful or so I’ve heard._

* * *

Oikawa looks down at Futakuchi, running his hand in his hair, letting his fingers linger as he brushes over Futakuchi’s eyelashes, trailing down his cheek tenderly. He swipes his thumb over the boy’s lips, and cradles his face gently.

It’s a pity.

He doesn’t even think he knows Futakuchi as much as the boy knows Oikawa.

Still, it doesn’t make killing him any easier for the heart.

There is something sitting on his chest, squeezing the air out of his chest and making him dizzy.

The audience are probably getting impatient, and Oikawa knows it’s rude to leave a cliffhanger.

He leans in, pressing his lips to the sleeping boy’s forehead. A blessing, above anything else. Perhaps a good luck charm to the Underworld.

 _I’m sorry._  he wants to say.  _I’m sorry the world is so messed up. I’m sorry we were born at such an unfortunate time._

Instead he says, “Don’t worry. I’ll be joining you in the place they send dead teenage murderers in no time. In the meantime you better not fall for that stupidly attractive douchebag from District Ten.”

He knows that when he drives his blade down, it wouldn’t make a sound. And red will be the color dousing his fingers when he redraws his dagger.

Oikawa angles his target carefully. There, at the chest, right past Futakuchi’s ribs.

He doesn’t dare look when he stabs down.

**Author's Note:**

> Futakuchi is from District Two (Masonry), Oikawa is from Districts One (Luxury), both are Careers.  
> Waaaay before the whole Katniss thing.  
> It’s been a long time since I last read the Hunger Games so if I got anything wrong I apologize!!  
> Please leave a comment and/or a kudos if you liked it! It would really mean the world to me!!


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